


Chair Today, Gone Tomorrow

by unoriginal_liz



Category: Life with Derek
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-12
Updated: 2009-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6230881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unoriginal_liz/pseuds/unoriginal_liz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Crazy as this may sound, King Ego, I don't find you attractive - and I have absolutely no interest in sexual congress with you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chair Today, Gone Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt involving Derek's chair. Eh.

Casey McDonald was no quitter, but after her first unsuccessful attempt at redecoration, and the almost-divorce that followed, she resigned herself to the uglier than ugly ornaments, the hideously banal painting that hung over the mantelpiece, and – the glue that messily held every mismatched item together – the couch.

But then…something miraculous happened. Well, strictly speaking, it wasn't exactly _miraculous_ that Edwin, still way too young and immature to use the couch for make-out sessions, decided to have a Bounce-a-thon with a friend instead, and broke the springs. But it _was_ lucky, because Casey discovered something else about boys – when it came down to it, for them, comfortable butts beat fond memories any time. Because within two days, the old couch had been dumped and there was a nice, new couch in their living room.

It was the perfect size. It was comfortable. Most importantly, it was _pretty_. Casey had learned to live with the tacky trophies and the uninspiring artwork – but bolstered by the new couch, she decided that at least _one thing_ in the whole McDonald-Venturi mismatch was going to harmonize, dammit.

And that meant that – Derek's chair? Had to go.

Of course, she didn't say this until after she had made many vague, annoying comments about lack of space, provoking Derek into issuing a McDonald-Venturi challenge where the winner got to decide what item the loser had to throw out ("Creating more _space_ ," he said smugly). Specifically, she didn't mention it until she had _won_ the challenge, and she and Lizzie were standing in front of the crushed members of team Venturi.

_Then_ she took the opportunity to smirk in Derek's disbelieving face and say, calmly, "In case you're interested, I think it's time to say 'bye-bye recliner'."

He gaped at her and said, outraged, "But there's nothing wrong with my recliner!"

Casey smiled sweetly. "It's taking up _space_."

He stared at her. "You tricked me!" he said suddenly. "You made me think that you couldn't – and then you…you…" he trailed off with an outraged glare.

"I don't remember ever saying that I wasn't good at card games. As a matter of fact, Concentration is totally my game – but, you know that by now, right?"

Derek glowered – and because in life, as in card games, it's no fun to hold back when you have the upper hand, she continued, "Oh, wait - you just _assumed_. And you know what they say about assumptions, don't you?"

"You _made_ me assume," he argued. "You used your – your feminine wiles" –

"My what?"

"What's a _why_?" Marti asked.

Derek looked down at her. "It's when Casey does _this_ ," he opened his eyes very wide, "and says stuff like…," (he adopted a high-pitched voice), "'How many cards in a deck again? Wow, that's a lot!'"

"I think you're just embarrassed because your masculine overconfidence made you underestimate me."

He dropped the ditzy act as he repeated, "Feminine. Wiles."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, okay, whatever you say. But I want the chair gone by Sunday."

He folded his arms and looked at her for a long moment, sizing her up. "Fine. But just so you know, I'll be using my _masculine_ wiles to make sure that the chair stays."

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Yeah…I hate to break it to you, but your ability to belch the alphabet isn't really a 'wile'."

"Yeah," Edwin chimed in. "It's more of a talent."

*****

She was extra vigilant Thursday and Friday, but by Saturday, Derek hadn't used any of his so-called 'wiles' to try to convince her that the chair should stay. Casey decided that he had probably discovered that he didn't have any, and by the time Saturday came, she had relaxed a little.

Which was why, when she padded downstairs for a drink of water that night, she felt comfortable enough to throw a taunt at Derek, still sitting in his chair and frowning at the muted television.

"Saying goodbye?" she asked. "Making the most of those last precious hours?"

In response, Derek turned off the television and got to his feet. "You're _really_ going to make me toss my chair?"

"It doesn't go with our theme," Casey said.

"What theme? The theme of _sitting_? Face it, there's no good reason to get rid of my chair."

"It clashes," she pointed out.

"Who cares? It's _comfortable_ ," he argued. He stared at her for a minute, then straightened. "Sit down."

"What?"

"Sit down," he repeated. "I want you to try something."

"Derek – sitting in your chair is not going to make me change my mind. I've sat there before, remember?"

"Then you've got no reason to refuse," he said obstinately.

She rolled her eyes, then crossed over to the chair and sat. "Okay, here I am, sitting in your chair. And you know something? It still clashes with our couch."

She moved to get up, but Derek pushed her back down. "You've got to give it more time than that." He held up a finger and pointed it at her, like she was a dog. "Stay," he said, drawing the word out, as he walked around the chair.

"Yeah, this is really going to make me change my mind," she muttered. She jumped as Derek's hands came down on her shoulders from behind the recliner.

"First of all, you need to unclench." He pushed down on her shoulders for emphasis. She thought about it for a second before deciding that since she had won, she could afford to humor Derek for a while...before turning around and crushing his hopes entirely. She leaned back into the recliner.

"Take the stick out, and _sprawl_ ," Derek said. She rolled her eyes and let her arms flop by her sides, but in spite of this willing attitude, his hands remained on her shoulders, heavy and too-warm through the fabric of her pajama top.

"Next, you need to become one with the chair."

Casey could feel her eyebrows rising.

"Breathe in, and out, in…and out," he chanted, and his hands began to move, slowly. Down her arms when he said 'out', and back up whenever he said 'in.' Up and down. Up and down, over and over, steadily and unhurriedly. "Out," stroke down, "...and in," stroke up. It was late, and she was tired, and Derek was using a television-hypnotist voice, low and soothing – so she spaced for a moment.

She came back to herself abruptly when, on their way down her arms, Derek's hands brushed against the sides of her breasts.

She started and immediately twisted around on the chair. "What" – she managed, before her voice failed her. She glared harder to make up for it.

"Jeez," Derek said, and held up his hands in front of him, as if to ward her off. "I knew you were a keener, but hyperventilating at the thought of relaxing? There's keener, and there's _crazy_."

She stared at him, but he just looked back at her, annoyed. He didn't look devious – she narrowed her eyes and amended this – he didn't look any more devious than usual. She took a deep breath to calm her jumping heart, ready to write the incident off as an accident and go to bed immediately, because innocent as it may have been, Derek Venturi's hands had _touched her breasts_ and this was a situation that she needed to start forgetting as soon as possible.

"You know," she said, striving to sound casual, "I really don't think I need you to explain the concept of _sitting_ to me, so" –

"Really? Because from here, it looks like you're having trouble with the basics," Derek said, watching her swing her legs over the side of the recliner, obviously preparing to get up. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her elbow, hauling her back.

Casey crossed her arms and announced, "For the record, physical violence is not the way to get me to change my mind."

"Oh come on, I barely touched you!"

A lecture on boundaries and inappropriate physical contact was on the tip of her tongue when it occurred to her that Derek wasn't referring to _that_ touch. She flushed and snapped her mouth shut, which he took for acquiescence.

"Okay. Stage two" -

Casey was going to go to bed, because it was late and it wasn't like hanging out with Derek made up for missed sleep, but what he said next made her pause.

" - empty your mind of all thoughts" -

After all, there was one particular thought she really wanted to empty her mind of. Cautiously, she leaned back into the chair, and relaxed further when Derek's hands remained safely off her body.

"Try to make your mind completely blank - what do you call that?"

"How you operate on a daily basis?" she offered.

"Zen," he said shortly. She could hear the irritation in his voice, and it made her muscles loosen in satisfaction. Maybe she could spare a couple more minutes after all. She let out a little contented hum, and tilted her head back. This gave her a view of Derek, leaning over the top of the chair, chin resting on the back of his hands.

They looked at each other for a long moment before Derek said, "Close your eyes."

She couldn't explain it - because it was clearly an order, and if one thing had been clearly established during their few months of enforced cohabitation it was that Casey McDonald _did not_ take orders from Derek Venturi. So she was at a loss to understand why, in response to Derek's command, she found her eyes drifting shut. She was tired, she told herself, and tiredness made people irrational, made them do things they wouldn't normally do. Plus there was something about Derek's voice, pitched lower than usual, unhesitating - like he was sure Casey would do as he asked without question. It wasn't threatening - she wasn't doing it because she was scared (please, scared of _Derek_?) but there was _something_ there that made her uneasy.

She didn't have a chance to analyze it, because the recliner tipped back a little, and suddenly Derek was speaking - way too close to her. She could feel his breath on the right side of her face. His voice made her ear buzz, and she frowned. Her hand came up instinctively to swat at him, like he was a fly, but he caught her forearm with his hand and pressed it down against the armrest. His cheek brushed her temple, and she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter.

" - not just part of the furniture," he said, seemingly unaware of the weird undercurrent - or maybe all too aware of it, as he turned his head and spoke coaxingly right into her ear. "It's practically part of the family."

Okay, she was familiar with this brand of Derek-bull, and the response came out automatically, though her voice sounded a little strange to her ears. "It does make more of a contribution to this household than you do." She cleared her throat to get rid of the waver in her voice. "But it's still going." This last part came out more normally, and she was relieved.

"Have you no _soul_?" Derek demanded, with over-the-top sincerity that probably worked on other people, but had absolutely no effect on Casey. Usually.

"Have you no _taste_?" she countered. It was easier with her eyes closed, like Derek was just an annoying voice in her head.

"Okay," he said, in that odd, low tone. He wasn't speaking loudly, but for some reason, she felt the vibrations through her whole body. "Okay, so it's not just about comfort. It's about...how you _feel_ in the chair." He stopped, and for the first time ever, she wanted to hear what he was going to say next. She waited.

"Confident," he said, drawing the word out. His right hand began moving slowly up her forearm. "In control." His left hand covered her wrist on the other armrest before sliding upwards as well. Her skin prickled where his hands had touched. Irritation, she told herself firmly. She was so allergic to Derek Venturi that she couldn't bear him to touch her even through a layer of pajama fabric. Not that he would ever touch her _without_ said layer of fabric, she hastened to add.

Then as his hands made their way up her arms, they grazed against the sides of her breasts again. Her indrawn breath seemed very loud, almost like a shout, and strangely, this was what made Casey flush and remain silent. Derek, for his part, seemed unaware. His hands kept moving upwards until they were kneading her shoulders. "Do you feel it?" he whispered into her ear.

"I..." she said. Her heart was beating in slow, deliberate thumps, her skin was tingling, and the fabric of her pajama top felt harsh against her suddenly sensitive chest. Was this weird, dizzy feeling what Derek meant when he talked about the chair?

"Because, if you're still not getting it, I can provide a practical demonstration," Derek said. This time his lips touched her ear, and not just once - every time he formed a word.

Casey's breath hitched, and she had to swallow twice, even though her mouth was dry, before she trusted her voice to ask - "What?"

"I said, why don't I _show_ you why we should keep my chair," Derek said, and this time, his mouth dipped below her ear and - and something she could only describe as _deliberate nuzzling_ occurred. She was so shocked that it was only when his hands started slipping down from her shoulders, over her collarbone, clearly heading for her breasts, that she scrambled off the chair.

She stood for a minute, gaping at Derek, because after all - "Just to be clear - you're offering me _sexual favors_ to keep the recliner?"

" _One_ sexual favor," Derek clarified. "Of your choice," he added, as an afterthought.

"And...what? It's going to be so good, my honor will demand I let you keep the recliner?" She stared at him some more. After all, what other response was there? Oh, actually, she could think of one - she laughed incredulously. "Does your back hurt - carrying the weight of that giant ego around?"

She could tell that Derek was annoyed from his posture - he didn't move, but suddenly he looked a lot stiffer. But his voice was careless as he said, "Hey, if you're scared I'm going to convince you..."

She laughed again. "Derek, you could perform the entire kama sutra on me, and it wouldn't change the eventual outcome."

"Then what have you got to lose?" he asked, taking a step towards her.

She fought the urge to step back. "Crazy as this may sound, King Ego, I don't find you attractive and I have absolutely no interest in sexual congress with you. I think the question should be, what do I have to _gain_?"

Derek took another step forward. "First of all, 'sexual congress'? What is this - model UN club? Second of all, it's not about being attracted to me - it's about power. You have me completely under your control. You can make me do _anything_." His voice lowered on the last sentence - and his head bent towards her confidentially, as if they were sharing a secret. It flickered across Casey's mind, too quick to halt, a picture of Derek on his knees, forced to follow her every command. The jolt of pleasure that shot through her body at the thought shocked her.

Derek obviously sensed some part of this, because he pressed on. " _You_ get to call the shots."

She looked at him, and she could swear the air thickened as she considered it. She shook her head because it was ridiculous to even entertain the thought. She opened her mouth to issue a firm refusal, but what came out instead was not a refusal at all, but a clear indicator that she had completely lost her mind, because it sounded like she wanted to be convinced -

"What if someone comes?" she asked, nervously.

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Call me experienced, but - that's kinda what's supposed to happen." He shifted impatiently on his feet. "Come on - what have you got to lose?" he repeated. He sounded a mixture of bored and amused at her nervousness, which inspired her to rise to the occasion with a better comeback.

"I don't know - valuable minutes I could spend enjoying a good book?" She emphasized the word 'good', implication clear.

Derek shrugged. "Hey, bring a book if you want. But believe me, you won't be reading it," he promised with a hard smile.

It was the arrogance of his tone that decided her. She held his gaze for a challenging second, before pushing past him to sit back down on the recliner. She folded her arms. "Do your _worst_ ," she said, deliberately, and leaned back.

He considered her for a moment. "Scoot," he ordered, and she pressed her legs together so that he could climb onto the chair. He ended up basically on her lap, though his weight was mostly on his legs, which were spread, one knee on either side of Casey. His hands held the armrests as he leaned forward. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, and she froze - she didn't know why, since far more X-rated things were clearly on the menu - but at the last second, he veered and his mouth was on her neck instead. It was odd to feel his lips there, warm and sucking the skin under her jaw, and she shifted uncomfortably. It felt like he was pulling something from inside her, drawing the ache at the bottom of her stomach to the surface of her skin. She wasn't sure she liked it.

Which was good, she told herself, as Derek moved down her neck, pausing every so often to kiss and suck and even scrape his teeth over her skin. Because she didn't intend to enjoy this one bit. She intended to make scathing remarks and cut Derek down to size, and pay him back for the million-and-one mean things he had done, said and even _thought_ about her since their families had merged. Which reminded her - she should really be cooking up some scathing remarks...

She cleared her throat as Derek's tongue lightly swept over her collarbone. He stopped, which disappointed her, even though that was the whole point of her throat-clearing.

"What?" he asked. Even though his voice was slightly muffled, the annoyance came through loud and clear.

"Nothing," she said. "I'm just surprised that you think _this_ is a sex act."

He pulled back and glared at her. "I can't just start cold, so suck it up and enjoy the foreplay." He returned to kissing her neck.

"Enjoy? Don't you mean, 'endure'?" she murmured, then gasped as he opened his mouth and sucked _hard_ in retaliation. Against her will, her hand came up to tangle in his hair. She could feel practically feel the smugness radiating from him at this, so she forced herself to untangle her hand - 'accidentally' pulling his hair in the process. She placed both hands in her lap.

Derek kissed his way down the v of her pajama top, until there was no more v and only one option. He moved back again, and eyes locked with Casey's, he began to unbutton it. Casey moved her hands to the armrests of the chair and _gripped_ to prevent herself from grabbing Derek and stopping him. Because his gaze was challenging, like he was expecting her to get cold feet and call the whole thing off. Maybe there was something sick and wrong about her letting Derek turn sex into another competition, but the fact remained, she couldn't bear to lose. And if she called this off now, he'd know he was getting to her. No, the only way to win was to see this through, hold her head high and say, "Was that it?" in a bored voice when it was over.

And then Derek's hands were on her breasts, and even though she fully intended to win this thing, she couldn't help the small gasp that came out of her mouth. But honestly, given her reaction when Derek had hardly brushed her breasts through her pajamas, and considering that now he was holding them with his bare hands, she thought she was doing quite well. Derek seemed kind of taken aback as well - there was a moment where he just stared blankly at his hands, like he couldn't believe where they were, before he seemed to get back with the program, and flicked her nipples with his thumbs, and Casey had to press her thighs together. He ran his index finger around the curve of her left breast, he squeezed experimentally, he blew warm air over her nipples, and it wasn't all perfect or exactly right, but enough of it was so good that by the time he finally put his mouth on her, she couldn't help arching her back into it. His tongue slid over her right nipple, which his fingers gently pinched the other, and she hardly even registered the small noises she was making. Derek did though.

He released her nipple - which made her itch to grab his head and guide it back to where it should be - and sat back in order to smirk. "Better be careful, Case," he said maliciously, "Someone might _come_."

She found the willpower to look amused. "Not a chance," she said, chin up.

"Uh-huh," he said flatly. "So - you ready for the main event?"

She opened her mouth, but Derek held up a hand to stop her. "Let me guess," he said with a small grin. His eyes were amused as he got off the chair to kneel in front of her, and Casey could feel her skin heat up - a mixture of embarrassment at wanting this in the first place, mortification that Derek should guess it so easily, and the fact that the reality of Derek kneeling at her feet was a million times hotter than the image in her mind had been.

"Spread 'em," he said unpoetically, and tapped her knees. And just like that, Casey decided that this might be easier than she'd expected. After all, he was still Derek, and by virtue of that fact, everything he did (or was going to do), was ultimately annoying and unpleasant. She let her knees fall apart, and when he grasped the waistband of her pajama pants, she lifted up her hips. He tugged it all the way down to her ankles, and then, once he had removed her slippers, he pulled it completely off and tossed it to the side. The slippers she was glad about - because she was certain it was impossible to feel masterfully in control in a sexual situation while wearing bunnies on one's feet...but the pajama pants, she was less sure about. Because suddenly, she was completely exposed - in front of _Derek_. She squirmed and fought the urge to lock her knees tightly together, and her butt slid on the chair, reminding her of how and why this whole crazy ridiculous situation had started in the first place.

Derek's hands came down on her knees, spreading her legs wider, and she burned with a mixture of shame and arousal at being so open and turned on and _wet_ in front of him. His fingers slid up her thighs, and he licked his lips, and suddenly, arousal definitely had the upper hand. He bent his head and Casey had a second to prepare herself before his mouth was on her. It wasn't enough time, because when his tongue slid across her clit for the first time, she made a high pitched sound and dug her fingers into the armrests of the chair. Because - _that felt good_. He did it again, and it was still amazing, and without warning, all those thoughts about keeping her cool and winning this competition slipped to the back of her mind, replaced with an urgent desire to keep Derek doing what he was doing at the moment.

Much as she hated Derek being right about anything, she _did_ feel powerful and in control as she looked down at his head between her legs. She couldn't stop staring. Derek was _going down_ on her, and as soon as she consciously thought that, something spasmed low in her stomach, and the ache between her legs became even more intense. He circled her clit before flicking it, and her hips jerked. Derek used his hands to hold them down, but thankfully, didn't make any smug, mood-killing remarks this time. His tongue was warm and wet and oh God, slipping against her. She moaned as he -

Leaned back. "About my chair," he said.

She stared at him, because why was he talking, when he had just proved that there were other, far more enjoyable uses for his mouth? He looked at her expectantly, and she blinked, mind blank except for the very pressing need to make Derek go back to doing what he had been doing two minutes ago.

"Any thoughts?" he asked, then ran his index finger along her. She whined. "About my chair," he clarified, and pressed his finger against her clit.

"We could," she began, chest heaving for breath. He paused, listening attentively. "We could - get it upholstered," she offered desperately.

He considered this, before withdrawing his finger entirely. "Not really feeling it," he said, and Casey glared, because she wasn't exactly 'feeling it' either, which was the whole problem. He looked at her, and gestured to her spread legs, "I guess I should finish up though," and quick as a flash, he was licking her clit, fast rough strokes with the flat of his tongue. Casey felt something pull tight inside her, tighter and tighter, and then, as every muscle in her body tensed, waiting for it to snap, Derek stopped again. "No," he said, with fake sadness, "I'm just not inspired."

Her mouth dropped open, because he couldn't _stop now_. Suddenly, she heard her voice say, sounding tight and desperate, "Okay!"

"Okay what?" he prompted. He shifted impatiently, hand sliding over her thigh.

It burst out of her. "You can keep the chair."

She saw his triumphant grin, but by then it was too late, she couldn't unsay it - and she wasn't sure she would, even if she could, because Derek's tongue was moving, and his finger was rubbing her clit, and that pulled tight feeling suddenly snapped. She heard herself make a soft, amazed sound, and she was writhing against his face, muscles quivering around his tongue, toes curling.

She came back to herself slowly, her breathing obscenely loud in the silence.

"Well," Derek said, sounding criminally self-satisfied. Her eyes snapped open. "I'll let you tell the parentals they don't need to spring for the extra armchair."

He levered himself to his feet and regarded the chair. "After all, it's got sentimental value, right?" He yawned. "Well, g'night, and…" he smirked at her and gestured at the recliner, "enjoy. Comfortable, huh?"

His hand fell heavy on her shoulder as he passed, and she flinched. As she listened to Derek walk upstairs, and hastily pulled up her pajama pants, she was forced to acknowledge the distasteful fact that Derek did indeed have wiles.

She slowly got to her feet. She'd gotten used to the tasteless knick-knacks and the pedestrian art…

She glanced down at the chair. But how was she supposed to live with _that...now_?


End file.
